Bedroom Antics

Finally, we have managed to get round to “sorting out” our bedroom in the new house.

The rest of the house has been reasonably simple to furnish, but the master bedroom kept getting bumped back for two reasons.

Firstly, Ikea let me down in a big way. They allowed me to order a mattress, pay for it, and wait for half an hour at the warehouse round the corner before finally deciding that it was out of stock. Subsequently I went home without a mattress. There didn’t seem to be any point in assembling our new Leksvik bedframe until we had a mattress, so the boxes remained in the garage for a while.

> Ikea, you are bastards,
> Spreading agony and crises,
> But I continue to buy your wares,
> ‘Cos I’m a sucker for your prices.

Secondly, my sister’s boyfriend said that he could get us a couple of nice wardrobes for free. We held out for those for a while, but at the weekend we decided that they probably weren’t going to materialise, and so we’ve bought our own.

> You promised us a wardrobe,
> Heck, you promised we’d get two!
> But did they turn up? Did they, boat.
> I’m slightly miffed with you.

And that’s why our bedroom will soon be “sorted out”. Just as soon as I build all the furniture. And then, I’m hoping that everything will tumble into place, as suitcases full of clothes can finally be unpacked and awesomeness is restored.

> At last! The dining table
> Can be used for taking supper.
> Well, it will be, when we buy some chairs.
> Off to Ikea again. Bugger.

*Yes, that’s all original poetry. Aren’t I bloody great?*

Fiction Peril Poetry

Anecdotal Warning About Hitch-hikers

*The sun had long since set, I was driving over a bridge,
She suddenly came into view, her thumb up for a lift.
I brought the car to a sudden halt, from behind I heard a beep,
And just one minute later she was in the passenger seat.*

*I’d offered her a lift, as previously stated,
As her direction and my own approximately correlated.
Two minutes down the road, things went a bit downhill,
When she produced a hefty knife, and this made me feel quite ill.*

*Now I am in pieces and not in the metaphorical sense,
She’s kept my hand as a souvenir and chucked the rest over a fence
And my car is in a canyon in a very remote place
And my girlfriend will be worried because I’m not usually late.*

*There’s a rat or mouse chewing on my ear, it tickles quite a bit.
Well, it would if I were still alive, right now I can’t feel shit.
I can’t hear any traffic, and it looks like it might snow.
Despite what you might think, it wasn’t such a bad way to go.*


Butter Rabbit

*Oh howdy, butter rabbit, you’re a most amusing fellow
I bet the bunnies laugh at you, for your fur is coloured yellow,
It’s hard for butter rabbits, no, being one ain’t easy,
As the fat content implicit makes your fur a little greasy.*

*But then when circumstances test the other rabbits’ patience,
And they can’t get through a fence without some extra lubrication,
Along comes butter rabbit in his slippy, buttery way,
And gains access to the carrots, and consequently saves the day.*


About a Kettle

I’ve seen a lot of toasters,
And sandwich makers too,
But I never could stop searching
For a kettle just like you.

I like your pouty spout,
And your elegant element.
I like your ample handle,
And your kooky plastic scent.

Please sit here on my worktop,
And boil water for my tea,
And tell me how you’ve always searched
For a blender just like me.


The Angry Shoebox

There was an angry shoebox,
Who mumbled all day long.
He’d whine about the weather,
And ask where all the red telephone boxes had gone.

The shoebox, he joined UKIP
To get the phonebooths back,
And everyone accused him,
Of being a dumbass racist hack.

And they were right, I guess.

(note: all abbreviations mentioned in this poem are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to any abbreviation, living or dead, is purely coincidental)


Bitter? Me? What gave you that idea?

I’ve known a lot of girls,
In the days since I was born.
Some were real and made of flesh,
And some were merely porn.

I’ve given laughter to many girls,
I’ve even made some cry.
One of them even slit her wrists,
Because I made her want to die.

But these are just a sample,
Out of all the girls I’ve met,
For most girls that I’ve spoken to,
I’d much rather forget.

The girls who laughed at my geeky ways,
Who sniggered, sneered and scoffed.
You turned me down, well that’s your loss,
But I hope your tits fall off.

Yes I hope your tits fall off.

Displeasure Poetry


I’ll pop down to the gym,
To do my exercise,
I aim to help my biceps,
Achieve a larger size.

But a man upon the chest press,
Warrants more inspection,
He isn’t doing exercise,
But reading the Arts section!

Piss off, you utter tit,
Your behaviour is obscene,
Can’t you read the notices?
Rest away from the machine!



I shot a little badger,
With a long elastic band,
I spied it with my little eye,
And aimed with my right hand.

The badger took off, like a shot,
Raced along the grass,
And all because I shot it,
In it’s furry little ass.



I found some little fairies,
On my lawn the other day,
But when I tried to talk to them,
They all just flew away.

So I took a pot of glue,
And made a sticky pool,
So now I am much happier,
Cos my garden’s always full.

Peril Poetry

A poem

*And the pencil was sharpen’d,
Sharp it was.
Like a spear
Piercing the snowy white paper.
It’s sharpness making mortals quake,
And grown men cry.
And badgers were overcome,
With terr’ble, terr’ble

*Originally posted here*